Wookiee Heart
by JustInunotaisho
Summary: Often, Celia wondered why Imril didn’t talk about his family much. Sequel to The Man Who Made Darth Vader Laugh. Disclaimer: I don't own the characters HK, Celia, or Zalbaar. [Complete]
1. Chapter 1

In the cargo hold of the freighter _Dustman_, Celia Durasha couldn't sleep, though the borrowed bedroll was comfortable. Sighing, she rolled onto her side, and blew long crimson hair out of her green eyes. The view was no better, two glowing dots reflected on the metallic cylinder keeping her awake.

Finally, the navigator rolled her eyes and stood up abruptly. "Do you mind?!" she demanded.

The assassin droid HK-47, nicknamed "Hakky" by his Corellian master, continued looking at her with his red-lit eyes. "Statement: I am a completely mechanical being and though I was created to appear of slight organic design, I do not possess a mind. Hypothesis: However, it is my experience that when meatbags like yourself use that expression, they are expressing irritation over an act - ."

"Can it," growled Celia, stepping over the footlockers and cargo containers scattered throughout the hold. "I'm going up top."

Hakky watched her ascend the ladder to the cockpit, wondering, as he had frequently for the past month since Imril rescued the woman from the Maelstrom Nebula, why humans were so complicated.

Up in the cockpit of the heavily modified Firespray, Imril D'Var slept, his feet up on the pilot's console. In sleep, the long-haired pirate looked younger than he was. Celia figured it was because his blue eyes were closed, conveying nothing of the roguish mind behind them. She silently slid into the copilot's chair and looked over the controls. Finding nothing to hold her interest, the young lady mirrored Imril's pose and stared out at the depths of hyperspace, a feeling of peace stealing over her.

Though she had known Imril for only one month, they became good friends, she navigating and he piloting and teaching her how to use the weapons systems on the _Dustman._ It was a partnership born from a chance meeting. Imril sacrificed a lucrative contract with the Hutts and defied an Imperial Intelligence officer to save Celia's life. Then, despite the danger of her extended company, the pirate offered her a partnership in his company. Celia accepted, uncaring that the company consisted solely of the pirate, Hakky, and herself. As Imril put it, the company endorsed "liberation of wealth from Imperial Authorities, forcible requisition of delicate information, the secret transportation of highly questionable materials, as well as vigilante service for causes of freedom."

Celia translated it from his dramatic manner, "Piracy, slicing, smuggling, and soldiering of fortune." Still, she welcomed the lessons, the reality of her hunted status all too present for her to laugh them off. However, one thing he didn't teach her was sword fighting. It was an ancient art, yes, but a romantic side of her wanted to learn it. He wouldn't teach it to her, though, and she began to suspect it had something to do with his past.

Other than the outlandish stories of his exploits before she became his partner, Imril was not one to talk of his personal past. True, he spoke of his experiences in the Imperial Navy but avoided questions about his family, save for what Celia was already privy to: he had had two sisters, the younger, Katira, killed by stormtroopers. The older one, Selana, had gone to Coruscant to study Art at the finest school there.

Often, Celia wondered why Imril didn't talk about his family much. The fact that they were heading to Corellia currently might have been reason enough for Celia to broach the subject. However, when Hakky asked Imril why they were going to Corellia, his master merely said, "Business." The shortness of his answer and the manner in which he said it dampened Celia's curiosity for the time being. She had a good hunch, though, that he'd be forced to tell her sooner or later. All she could do was wait.

Laughing like a crazy teenager in a T-16, Imril pulled the _Dustman_ into a series of dizzying loops and rolls over the city of Coronet. Below, citizens of Corellia's capital city either looked up and cheered or shook their fists and swore.

"Freighter _Dustman_, you are leaving your approach vectors," came the air controller's voice in an annoyed bark. "Stay on the projected course or you will be subject to legal consequences."

The pirate made a face, unable to resist pulling one last "Insider Tumble" that made him run dangerously close to the top floor of a fancy hotel building. Finally, he brought the ship gliding in and set it down in a docking bay.

Unstrapping herself, Celia looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't that a bit much? We didn't exactly maintain a low profile."

"Nonsense!" With a flourish, Imril stood up and buckled on his vibrosword. He grinned irrepressibly at her, evidently in a good mood. "One must satisfy one's fans, you know."

"'One's fans?'" echoed Celia, confused. "You have fans?"

"Of course! Coming?" he asked over his shoulder, beginning to climb down the ladder. "Hakky, stay with the ship." The pirate waited for Celia, then hit the controls to extend the docking ramp.

In the bay, an irritated official and his assistant were striding up to the ship. Imril positively swept down the ramp to meet them after linking arms with a surprised Celia.

"This is an outrage!" sputtered the official, clad in a spaceport worker uniform of gray and black, his salt and pepper hair neatly combed. "Flying that low over a highly populated area, frightening half of the city's population, breaking most of the air regulations – just who do you think you are? The Corellian Lancer?!"

"Ah, you mean the fifteen-year-old boy who won the Coronet Icewing Championship with no prior racing experience six years ago before going off to attend the Imperial Academy?" asked Imril genially, a smile flickering around his lips.

"Yes, yes, yes," dismissed the official impatiently. "He came in one minute before the second place finisher –."

"One point three minutes, to be precise."

The official did a double take and his jaw dropped. "You…he…" he said weakly. His assistant looked from his boss to Imril, confused. "You're him!" the official managed to say, respect gleaming in his eyes. He held out a trembling hand, gazing at Imril in awe.

The pirate laughed warmly and shook his hand. "Well, it was a long time ago…"

"I remember it like it was yesterday," protested the other.

Celia listened, bemused by the old man's enjoyment as he recounted every dip and bank of the pirate's ship in the race. Another bit of Imril's life was revealed to her and she could see that he must have been a handful as a child.

Imril managed to steer the conversation to an end, and, after another handshake, Imril and Celia left a very happy official and exited the docking bay.

Outside, they traveled down the crowded street, which Imril called "Treasure Ship Row," a market for all kinds of goods and quite a few bads. Stalls were crammed together with small prefab shelters, food sellers cooking meats next to blaster merchants who hastily covered part of their merchandise when CorSec officers came past.

Impressed, Celia watched how effortlessly Imril slid through the crowds of humans, furry Saccorans, short Drallians, and so many other species, all arguing, shouting, laughing, talking, and bartering. She stumbled over a drunkard's feet as he sprawled against a nearby shop wall. Imril caught her, giving her an apologetic smile. He continued to look all around, searching for something. They seemed to be heading toward the end of the street, deeper into the city.

Imril led her to a shabby, two-story building, a fritzy holo-sign reading "Rin's Place" on the front. On the bottom floor was a restaurant. They went inside. The interior was smoky and dimly lit, filled with the chatter of a dozen different languages. A Duros argued with a jowled Sullustan, his blue skin dark with agitation. Over by the bar, a Zabrak took long drags from a water pipe, his golden orange eyes flitting around. Many other unidentified shapes filled the outskirts of the room, the shadows concealing them. Imril went boldly up to the bar where the light was better and a short green Rodian was serving drinks.

The alien bartender looked up, spotted Imril, and his snout widened in surprise. _Imril! You come back! Five years ago, you go to Imps!_ he exclaimed in broken basic.

Grinning, the pirate leaned on the bar, clapping the Rodian's shoulder fondly. "Kavis, you old skifter, how have you been? Looks like Rin let you tend bar at last. When I was still around, you were just pushing the sonic cleaner around."

_I manager now!_ replied the Rodian proudly. _What you want? Treat mine!_ His sucker tipped fingers hovered over the array of bottles.

"An Alderaanian ale for the lady, Kavis, and I'd like a favor."

Celia noticed Kavis sorted through the glasses to give her one that was clean and unchipped. _For Old Friend Champion Lancer, anything!_ he promised, pouring the ale and presenting it with a polite bow to Celia.

Imril turned to Celia, a serious look coming over his face. "I need you to stay here for a while until I return. Kavis will look after you. The Imps don't come in here."

_Yes. Too many aliens_, chipped in Kavis, making a rude gesture. _Don't worry, miss and Imril: I look after you good_.

"Business?" asked Celia innocently, taking a sip of her ale.

"Business." For a moment, the humor died from Imril's eye and he looked grim. Then, he smiled at her. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon." Squeezing her hand reassuringly, he winked and strode out of the restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own A Certain Point of View or KOTOR or Star Wars, period.

The center of the city was home to rich citizens and white-collar workers. Here, the streets were cleaner, the citizens dressed better, and law enforcement was in high abundance. Imril's leather coat and boots were starkly out of place, as was his long, shaggy hair. Still, he strode down the side of the street, arrogance and surety evident on his face. When in doubt, act as though you own the planet and no one will bother you – he had learned that in the Navy. It worked. The Corellian Security officers merely kept an eye on him as he strode past without giving them the slightest glance.

When he turned a corner and recognized a certain building, the pirate's stomach clenched. It was a grand office building, built at least twenty stories tall, a huge holo-sign over the large doors of transparisteel reading "D'Var Shipping."

Imril almost turned and left, a part of him wondering whether it would be best to simply leave the past alone. The weight of the vibrosword on his hip, however, caused his feet to carry him forward, up the finely cut stone steps, through the doors, into the richly decorated lobby. It was just as busy as the day he left for the academy, beings of all shapes and sizes, but all commonly well-dressed, conversed in small groups, got in and out of turbolifts and generally went about their business.

Slowly going up to the reception desk, he leaned on the highly polished countertop and waited until the gleaming reception droid finished dealing with an irate Imperial spokesman. At last, the droid turned to Imril. "Is there something I may do for you, Sir?"

"Recognition, Silly," replied Imril, grinning in spite of himself. He remembered Katira's nickname for CLE-22, this droid.

CLE-22's golden optical receptors brightened at the words. "Master Imril! You have returned!" the droid exclaimed. "I must inform the staff – "

"That's all right, Silly, I won't be staying long. I just dropped by for a quick visit."

"Your parents are not in at the moment, Master Imril, but attending a business luncheon on the other side of Coronet. If you would care to wait in the quarters, they will be back in two hours."

"Thanks, but I have someone waiting for me. I'll probably leave them a message."

CLE-22 handed him a keycard for the D'Var residence on the top floor. "Shall I escort you, Sir?"

"No, thank you, Silly, I believe I remember the way." Imril nodded once at the droid and walked to the turbolifts. Once slid open and he got in, memories coming to mind. As the lift ascended, he remembered the time he and Katira pushed every button on the lift and had the longest trip down ever. He was only ten at the time and Katira was six. Security told their parents and they had been punished. But, as they both decided later, it had been worth it. Even more exciting were the ventilation shafts they discovered and exploited. Imril used them to spy on various business meetings and report on dishonest employees to his father, the owner of D'Var shipping.

The turbolift door slid open to reveal a small room with a key-pad door. Imril stepped out, sliding his card into the pad. The door slid open, revealing a spacious suite. Some of the furniture, Imril did not remember, but in five years, the place had not changed that much. Upon most of the shelves in the sitting room, flowers of red and purple beamed out of delicate pots and filled the air with their sweet fragrance. Imril passed through the room and into another, his father's study. This room was decorated in a more male-suited theme, antique vibroswords decorating the walls and a polished wooden desk at one end of the room. Shelves lined the walls, holding data records and datapads by the hundreds. The library, along with the blade collection, was his father's pride and joy. When he was not busy running his company, the older D'Var would be here reading. It was a place where Imril could come, when he was young, and read about ancient heroes, adventures, and strange faraway places.

Ignoring the memories, the pirate passed through the study and into his own room. Other than being clean and orderly, it was exactly the way he left it. He tried not to look at anything in particular, not wanting to be distracted. His long fingers ran along the side of his bed and stopped when he felt a divot in the metal frame. A small panel slid open with a hum, exposing a small compartment underneath.

Inside, a small sack, a gleaming green cube with strange writing upon it, and a few gems were tucked away. Ignoring the rest, he took the cube, closed the panel, and turned to leave.

Selana stood in the doorway, her arms crossed and her jaw set as she glared at him.

Recovering quickly, the pirate straightened and nodded at her. "Selana."

"Come to loot the place, have you?" His sister's eyes and voice were equal in coldness.

"I came to get what was mine," defended Imril, holding up the cube. He took a step to move past her. "Now, I'll just be leaving – "

"Again?" She laughed grimly, not moving out of his way. "Same old Imril. The one who thinks about himself and no one else. Go ahead and leave. Who knows? Maybe this time, _I'll_ be the one to die in a cantina because you left."

Imril didn't look at her, merely staring at the cube in his hand.

His sister continued, "You just had to do it, Imril. You had to run off and join the Navy, not caring that Katira would be left alone. It's your fault she was as wild as she was. It's your fault she died!" She was shouting now, moving to stand closer, her fists clenched.

The pirate had had enough. Slowly, he raised his head. Selana took a step back, the look in his ice-blue eyes frightening her. "How dare you…" he grated, his voice so low she could scarcely hear. "If I am to blame for leaving Corellia and my family to do what I wanted most, then so are you. You are hurting, Selana, and feel some guilt because of Katira's death. You seek to feel better by accusing me but that is stupid."

"You can't talk to me like that!"

"Oh yes I can," snarled Imril, closing the distance between them with a swift stride. She backed away, but Imril continued forward until his sister was against the wall, staring up at him in fear as he continued. "Because now matter how much you or our parents wish otherwise, no matter whose fault it is that Katira died, no matter how much of a pirate or scoundrel I am, I am still your brother and we are _family_."

Having said enough, Imril backed away as Selana dropped her gaze. Her lip trembled as she whispered, "I'm sorry." Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry.

He reached out and held her gently. "So am I," murmured Imril, a tear of his own falling on her brown hair. Together, they grieved for their lost sister.

Despite her constant wondering as to where Imril had gone and why, Celia was having an interesting time. Kavis, while serving a steady flow of drinks and directing waiters serving food, devoted his time to telling her of his exploits with Imril during their younger days. Celia was surprised to learn that Imril and his little sister Katira used to come in here a lot.

The Rodian was excitedly telling her about the time he and Imril patched up an old airspeeder, when a tall, hairy Wookiee sat down on the stool next to Celia. Tapping her gently on the shoulder, he let out a series of hoots and barks and cocked his head questioningly. Unable to understand, Celia shrugged helplessly and looked at Kavis

_Sorry, Wook. Celia-friend don't know Wook-talk,_ the Rodian said to him. I do. _Want translate, Celia-friend?_

"Sure, I guess. What does he want from me?"

The Wookiee ran a long finger over a black patch of fir on his brown coat, letting out another hoot.

_Wook name Takaballow. Takaballow wonder why you travel with sword-bearer_, translated Kavis. _I guess Taka mean Imril-friend._

"Why does he want to know?" Celia asked, regarding the Wookiee with suspicion. Judging by the large crossbow and bandolier across his chest, the Wookiee obviously made his living out of a holster.

Chuffing with laughter, the Wookiee growled something else.

Kavis listened, then explained. _Taka say, no worry Celia Durasha. Though he bounty hunter, no capture Celia Durasha since she travel with sword-bearer._

"What's so special about Imril?" Celia knew Wookiees could be fierce and persistent and she wondered what made her association with Imril so special that this bounty hunter would not touch her. "Or," she continued, remembering what the Wookiee called the pirate. "What's so special about the sword?"

_Taka say blade special. Four thousand year old Wook-blade with Wook-speech carvings. Chief Wook-blade._

"A Wookie chieftain blade?" repeated Celia. "Four thousand years old?"

Roaring softly, the Wookiee gave a vigorous nod. Celia could only shake her head in disbelief, wondering where in the galaxy Imril managed to get a sword such as that. Her musings were interrupted by Kavis waving at someone over her shoulder. Imril-friend back, he announced.

The pirate walked up to them, a pensive look in his eyes. He suddenly noticed Celia, Kavis, and the Wookiee staring at him and frowned. "What's wrong? Is my sword dirty?"

A/N: Well, there it is. Installment two. If this is going slow for you, be patient and, hey, let me know in the reviews hint, hint


	3. Chapter 3

"You've been very quiet," remarked Imril, settling into the pilot seat of the _Dustman._ He hailed the spaceport authorities for clearance and was acknowledged. "In fact," he continued, engaging the repulsors and give Celia a glance. "You haven't said one word to me since I came back to the bar."

"Did you steal that sword?" The question was bluntly asked, no subtlety involved.

Caught off guard, Imril concentrated on flying the ship into the sky. As they cleared Corellia's atmosphere and Coronet became a mere dot behind them, the pirate answered softly. "No, it was my father's. He collects old vibroswords and I used to borrow this one from his collection to play with." Smiling ruefully, he winked at her. "No matter how many times he punished me or tried to hide it, I'd always find it and use it to fight rancors, krayt dragons, and all manner of monsters."

Celia bit her lip to keep from laughing as a mental image of a smaller Imril waving the long sword about and yelling came to her mind.

With a final dance of his hands, the pirate sent the ship into hyperspace. "Next stop: Nar Shaddaa," he announced, sitting back. Without realizing it, he began to toy with the sword hilt. "Why the curiosity?"

"I met a Wookiee in Rin's Place who said it was a Wookiee chieftain's blade dated around four thousand years ago."

"Ah. That would explain the Shyriiwook runes on it."

"Shyriiwook?"

Imril nodded. "Wookiee language." He stood up, pulling out the green cube he retrieved from his former home. "The same as on this holocron."

"Holocron?"

"An ancient device, used as a sort of journal to store one's thoughts. Ideally, future generations could activate it and learn about you, ask your image questions and so on. Sort of an advanced interactive holo recording." Imril handed the holocron to her, pointing at a set of runes on one side. "See that section there? Those particular runes?"

"Yes, what about them?"

Drawing the sword, Imril held it by the blade, showing her the hilt near the crossbar. "Now look at these…" he directed, indicating another line of runes.

Celia bent forward, squinting at the tiny marks. "They look the same."

Nodding, the pirate sheathed the sword. "That holocron is connected with the sword, I think. So," he finished, crossing his arms. "We shall go to Nar Shaddaa and talk to a Wookiee of my acquaintance to see if she knows anything about it."

"Why not activate it and see what it is that way?" As she asked the question, she found the answer in a square hole on one side of the cube. "Oh, I see. It's incomplete."

"Unfortunately." The pirate stretched and scratched his chin laconically. "Anyway, I believe I shall go down to the hold and rustle up something to induce inebriation." He gave her a grin, eyes twinkling invitingly. "Care to join me?"

"I suppose," she agreed, pretending to yawn with boredom. With practiced ease, Celia slid down the ladder, landing perfectly at the bottom. She smirked up at the gaping Imril.

"Show off," he huffed. Suddenly, the pirate threw himself head first into the ladder well, catching himself and holding his body up with his feet on the edge of the opening. Matching her cheeky grin, he dangled upside down, his face an inch away from hers.

Too startled to move, Celia stared into his pale blue eyes. Only once before had she been this close to him and her lips still prickled at the memory of the tender kiss they shared.

The same was going through Imril's mind as he gazed into the emerald green depths of her eyes, intoxicated by the mystery and emotion that glinted within them. Again, he found himself tracing the delicate curves of her ears with his eyes, as well as the sensual lines of her lips and the intricacy of her fiery braided hair. The warmth of her breath played across his face and in the silence, he could have sworn he heard hear her heart beating, even over the sound of his own racing.

"Master," a harsh, static-filled voice cut through the silence.

Sighing with frustration, Imril released his foothold and landed on his hands. Regaining his feet, he turned to glare at HK-47. "What, Hakky?!" he snapped, irritated.

Unperturbed, the assassin droid clanked over to the ladder, joints squeaking. "Declaration: I was about to ask you to move so I could go up to the cockpit to keep watch." He began to climb up the ladder.

Recovering from the awkward moment, Imril rolled his eyes at Celia, who giggled. He began to rummage through the footlockers, throwing empty liquor bottles over his shoulder carelessly. "Been a long time since I stocked this place," he muttered, holding an empty Corellian ale bottle over his tongue, hoping to catch a drop or two. Sighing at the lack of them, the pirate tossed the bottle aside, unbuckled his sword and knelt down to make a thorough search.

"Careful!" The vibrosword had been leaned precariously against a cargo cylinder and fell over, clattering on the deck. Celia picked it up by the square pommel and was surprised when it came off in her hand, sending the sword clanging to the deck once more. "Imril, look!"

The pirate turned, a half full bottle of lavender hued liquid in one hand. "You broke it!" he yelped.

"I did not," objected Celia, picking up the blade and looking at the hilt. A small notch had been cut into the end so the pommel could be removed; she lined it up with a small protruding bit on the pommel and slid it easily back onto the sword. "See?"

The pirate looked closer. His eyes widened. "Hey, that-" he whipped out the holocron. "Take it off again, will you?" Taking the square pommel, he gently inserted it into the square hole on the holocron – a perfect fit.

As he set it on the floor, the cube began to glow with soft green light. A projection formed out of the top, a shimmering green shape that towered over the two of them. It was a Wookiee, carrying the same sword that Imril had in his hands.

The Wookiee looked around, noticing Imril's sword, and hooted softly, his voice possessing an echoing quality. He pointed a large paw at Imril.

"What's he saying?" Celia asked, finding her voice.

"He says he is 'Zalbaar Revan-friend' and wants to know what I'm doing with Bacca's blade," translated Imril, a fascinated look on his face. He addressed the apparition. "My name is Imril D'Var, Zalbaar. My father gave me this sword, but I don't know where he got it. Did it belong to you?" Some of the words on the sword and your holocron looked the same and I wondered…"

The hologram grunted and yowled for a long time, gesturing to the sword now and then. Imril kept up a steady translation. Apparently, four thousand years ago, when the Old Republic was still around, Zalbaar was rescued from slavers by a smuggler, Talek Kenobi. Swearing a life debt to him, Zalbaar traveled with Talek all around the galaxy. The smuggler became a Jedi and was tasked by the ancient Jedi council to find and destroy a Sith weapon that threatened to defeat the Republic. While searching for clues as to its whereabouts, their company discovered Bacca's blade on Kashyyk where it had been lost for many years. After driving slavers off Kashyyk, Zalbaar's father entrusted the blade to him. Talek's real name turned out to be Revan, a Sith Lord who discovered the weapon and later was captured and memory-wiped by the Jedi. In the end, Revan destroyed the Sith weapon and saved the Old Republic.

Celia listened, lost in the story, while Imril snorted. "Seems like the Republic has a knack for collapse. So, what happened to Talek or Revan or whatever his name was?"

A sad look came to Zalbaar's eyes as he haltingly recounted. Revan remembered something, a threat greater than the weapon and went beyond the outer rim to set it right, leaving Zalbaar and the rest of his friends behind. Four years after he left, a new cult of Sith came to Kashyyk, seeking Bacca's blade. Unable to fight them, Zalbaar fled with the blade, drawing them away from his people. The Wookiee feared to return, lest the Sith come back. Instead, he hid on a small planet on the Outer Rim, never to return to the forests of his home world. He constructed the holocron in the hope that the blade would one day return to his homeworld and people.

For a moment, the hold was silent as Imril and Celia digested the information. Out the corner of her eye, she watched the pirate closely, feeling an aching sorrow for this Wookiee who gave up a life of ruling his people for one of protecting them. Obviously, the blade meant a lot to the long-dead Wookiee chieftain. Still, it would likely be hard for Imril to give it up, it being one more thing that tied him to his family.

"Zalbaar,' said Imril, looking up from his sitting position. "Your people are enslaved again."

The image roared, raising the sword.

"There are no more Sith, save one, and he helped slay all the Jedi many years ago." Imril filled Zalbaar in on the Empire, its ruler, and Darth Vader. "The Empire uses your people to build ships and weapons to keep the galaxy in line. I would return the sword but what good would it do? Four thousand years is a long time. Bacca's sword – _this_ sword – may just be a legend now."

Zalbaar shrugged and growled something about Wookiees living long enough to have good memories.

Shrugging, Imril replied, "Yeah, but even if I gave them the holocron and they believed you, what good would it do them against the Empire? The sword won't cut through Star Destroyers…"

Undeterred, Zalbaar roared again and shook his fist expressively. It would restore hope, he said.

Raising his hands in surrender, the pirate sighed. "All right, all right. We'll go to Kashyyk after Nar Shaddaa. Hopefully, my Wookiee buddy there knows how to contact the Wookiee resistance. I don't think the Empire would be happy if we landed on Kashyyk and openly gave the Wookiees Bacca's blade." Imril looked at Celia and grinned. "How does a planet with a bunch of trees and walking carpets sound for an adventure?"

"Sounds great." Celia turned serious. "Thanks, Imril."

"For what?" He looked puzzled.

"For agreeing to return the blade. Not every pirate would do that. I think it's very generous of you."

"Well…" Imril looked away in embarrassment. "To me, a sword's a sword. Though I know how to fight with one, I wear it just for show. The whole noble, dashing pirate look, you know."

"You left out handsome and suave," reminded Celia, playfully shoving him onto his back.

"Why, thank you," he purred, his voice seductively low as he caught her hand and bestowed a mischievous kiss on her soft fingertips. At another comment from Zalbaar, Imril sat upright, an incredulous look on his face. "What? You want to teach me how to sword fight?"

Zalbaar nodded, woofing that Imril might find the training helpful in restoring the blade to Kashyyk.

"Well, thanks for the offer, but I rely more on blasters and vibroshivs."

Growing insistent, the image motioned to the sword in his hand. Restraining himself from rolling his eyes, Imril sighed, "Far be it from me to interfere with tradition, then." He turned and yelled up the ladder well to the cockpit. "Hakky? How long till we reach Nar Shaddaa?"

"Approximation: 36.73 hours, Master," the droid's voice came back.

Imril looked back at Zalbaar, arching an eyebrow. "Think you can teach me in that amount of time?"

A/N: This is the third installment. Why not review and tell me how much you hated it or how much you couldn't live without it?


	4. Chapter 4

Nar Shaddaa possessed a distinctive odor of its own, the streets filled with the rank of garbage mingling with cigarra smoke, cheap intoxicants, and a hint of spice. It was her second visit to the Smuggler's Moon, but Celia still hadn't gotten used to the air and coughed periodically. She wasn't surprised that Imril seemed to have no trouble at all and slightly resented it.

Imril, oblivious to her thoughts, strolled at her side, whistling tunelessly, happy to get out of the cramped cargo hold and away from ancient holo images that were fussy about the way one held a sword. Despite the initial slow going, he picked up the ancient fencing skills easily. Granted, he wasn't perfect and ached in spots where muscles lay unused.

The sights of the Red Sector were blinding, the harsh, vibrant colors of holo-signs driving against their eyes. A thousand colors wove from light to light, from storefront to storefront, glittering gold, shining silver. A thousand sounds pounded their ears in a thousand languages as the press of creatures milled about on the street. Overwhelmed, Celia realized her mouth was hanging open as her eyes tried to take in every sight in every direction at once. She unconsciously drew closer to Imril.

"It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

Jumping slightly at his sudden comment, Celia nodded.

The pirate laughed, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, you get used to it after a while."

Somehow, Celia felt better with his arm around her. She reached up and laid her hand on his large one, marveling at how warm it was. Imril gave her a small smile but did not comment.

At last, the crowds thinned out a bit as the two reached their destination, the entrance to a dark alleyway between a sabaac den and a tavern. They entered, Imril slipping his free hand down to draw one of his blasters. The young lady noticed and put her hand casually on her own, receiving an approving nod from her friend.

Skirting piles of refuse, the pirate led her to a doorway and hit a pad next to it. It hissed open, revealing a dimly lit turbolift. They entered and Imril punched a button with its designated number scratched off. After a short ride, the door slid open to reveal a short corridor, littered with old ration packaging, broken datapads and other rubbish. Apartment doors lined the walls, their close proximity to one another suggesting the cramped spaces inside.

One door was half open; Imril swore half under his breath, raising his blaster and flattening himself against the wall next to it. Celia took the hind and stayed back, drawing her own pistol. Cautiously, the pirate poked his head around the doorway, then nodded to her and went in.

Inside, the apartment was a mess, bits of what was mostly computer parts scattered everywhere, some shattered. What little furniture the room possessed was slashed and overturned, the sickly yellow stuffing scattered around. A constant muttering brought their attention to a crouching figure clad in rags on the other side of the room. It was the back of an old man, bald and filthy. His pockets bulged with presumably stolen items. A small lockbox currently occupied his attention as his fingers tried to punch in the right code.

Imril coughed pointedly. The man leaped two feet into the air, spinning around in surprise. He recognized the pirate and his wrinkled face broke out in a grin that attempted, and failed, to hide his nervousness. "D'Var! What a pleasant surprise!" he squeaked, frantically shoving his hands in his pockets to cover the bulges.

"Really, Flikkin?" growled Imril. "I doubt that. What happened here that made you decide to loot the place? Where's Shataska?"

The short man hemmed and hawed, his eyes flicking back and forth shiftily. "Well, funny thing there, really…"

Before he could go on, the pirate slammed him up against the wall, the man's collar in both hands, his face a mere inch from Flikkin's "Where is Shataska?" he snarled again. "Tell me quickly."

"All right!" squeaked Flikkin, his feet dangling in midair as a few credits fell from his pockets. "She's been kidnapped!"

Imril chuckled disbelievingly. "Who's the nerf-herder who was dumb enough to kidnap a fully grown female Wookiee?"

"That's what happened, I swear!" exclaimed Flikkin. "I didn't do nothing, so let me go!"

"What did you see?" grated the pirate, turning up the heat in his glare.

Flikkin gulped and gasped out, "There were three guys: one Trandoshan and two humans, dressed like your typical thugs. They broke in and managed to stun Shataska before she could do anything. As they were dragging her away, I heard one of them mention 'Zyklanssk.'"

"Zyk-what?"

"I forgot. You haven't been around lately. Zyklanssk is one mean Trandoshan, black skinned and as tall as a full-grown Wookiee. He's a local crime lord with a hobby of capturing Wookiees off the streets or buying injured slaves from the Imps," explained Flikkin, his eyes wide and his voice frightened. "Rumors go around about how he fights each one in a death match. After killing them, he takes their pelts. Age doesn't matter, I've heard – he'll skin anybody, cubs, pregnant females, old and crippled."

"That barbaric!" hissed Celia, her stomach churning.

"And I hear if any of the Wookiees look like they might be too much for him, Zyklanssk breaks their legs before he fights them," went on Flikkin. "That's all I've heard, honest! Now let me go!"

"Just one more thing." Imril set the short man down, but kept a firm grip. "Where can I find this lizard?"

Flikkin's eyes began to shift again. "Well, I dunno, D'Var. I have a funny memory. It needs a few creds to return." He gulped again as the pirate's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Ah, try asking the guys behind you. The ones with the neuronic whips and blaster rifles…"

Before she could turn around, an arm circled her neck and the muzzle of a blaster was pressed against her temple. A voice barked, "Drop the blaster, lady. That goes for you, too, D'Var."

Imril complied, releasing Flikkin at the same time and turning to see a blond brute restraining Celia and a Trandoshan pointing a rifle at him. "Zyklanssk's men, I presume," he said, calmly. "Kindly take your hands off my friend."

"I don't think sso, human," replied the Trandoshan in a hissing voice, baring his pointed teeth in a predatory grin. "You ssee, Zyklanssk doessn't jusst take Wookiee pelts." He reached out and ran a claw over Celia's long fiery locks. "He expressed an interesst in the female'ss hair and dessiress it for hiss wall, though he doessn't consider a mere human worthy of sslaying in a duel."

Celia struggled against the man's grip, calling the Trandoshan a name Imril was surprised she knew. "And yet, he has no trouble killing Wookiee cubs and cripples."

The Trandoshan shrugged. "A pelt iss a pelt, no matter."

Flikkin cleared his throat, inching around Imril towards the door. "Well, then, I'll just be going." The little man scampered out the door before anyone could object. For a moment, the Trandoshan and his accomplice's attention was elsewhere long enough for Imril to make a flinging motion with his arm. One of his throwing knives sank into the eye of Celia's restrainer, killing him instantly. Despite the rising gorge within her, she managed to snatch the blade out of his eye and drive it into the Trandoshan's side.

The reptilian alien brushed it off as though the blow was a mere insect bite and dealt her a blow with his three-clawed hand, tossing her across the room. Her head knocked against the wall and she slid to the floor, unconsciousness falling over her.

A/N: So, what did you think? Let me know. Flames kill faeries.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So. There's a bit more blood, gore, and violense for you faithful readers out there who decided to stick with me thus far. Enjoy and drop a line.

When Imril woke up, the smell of blood and wet Wookiee assaulted his nostrils. He retched at the overpowering stench and the splitting pain from his head. Afraid that the light might aggravate his headache, he kept his eyes closed. A low keening met his ears and soft paws gently wrapped around him, helping him sit up.

"Attention, my loyal subjects – it is my new royal decree that no one is allowed to have any headaches without getting drunk beforehand," mumbled Imril, cracking his eyes open slightly. He recognized the furry face in front of him, eyes full of worry. "Shataska?"

The Wookiee roared, hugging him closer. Imril winced. "Easy, Lady. I've got a few dozen Star Destroyers packed into my skull right now." His eyes began to adjust to the dim light.

Shataska and he were in a large round room, with the outer edges packed with Wookiees. In the center, a huge force cage was activated, the blue fields crackling and wavering ominously. Imril identified a metal plate on the floor of the cage as a lift for bringing combatants into the ring from below. Around it, the floor was almost black with the color of dried blood, a few bones scattered atop the crusty ooze. _That must be where Zyklanssk fights his captives._

Speaking of which, where was Celia? Imril struggled to his feet and swayed as his vision wavered. Yelping in concern, Shataska placed a steadying paw on his shoulder.

"Celia…" muttered Imril, rubbing his head gingerly. "Where's Celia?" The last thing he remembered was leaping at the Trandoshan who threw her and driving Bacca's Blade into the lizard's head. There must have been more of Zyklanssk's thugs around who stunned him and brought him here.

His Wookiee friend chuffed something, motioning across the room at a limp figure passed out on the floor. It what light there was, the pirate could see the red hair. "Celia!" he called, stumbling his way around towards her. Stepping over Wookiee mothers holding their cubs, weaving through groups of gray-haired elders, Imril was stricken by the lack of noise. The looks of numb despair in each pair of eyes chilled his blood.

Reaching Celia's side, he knelt down and brushed her hair out of her face. Her skin was paler than normal, making the cut on her forehead vivid. The blood from it mingled with her hair and brought a lump to his throat. Carefully, the pirate propped her against his arm and held her head. "Celia," he whispered softly in her ear.

Slowly, her eyes opened, then squeezed shut in pain. "Sithspawn," she cursed just loud enough for him to hear. "Now that's what I call a headache."

Imril smiled in relief, embracing her tenderly. "Easy, now. Not every girl who tried to poke a lizard came off as well as you have."

Sighing, the young woman snuggled deeper into his arms, her breath playing warmly across his neck. "Hold me, Imril?"

"You bet, sweet lady," the pirate murmured, rubbing her spine comfortingly. She dropped off to sleep and Imril began to assess the situation. He was in Zyklanssk's territory, which was bad. He was without weapons, the Trandoshan's men having disarmed them both while they were unconscious, which was worse. Still, he found Shataska and Celia was safe, both of which were good. However, Zyklanssk probably would take Celia's hair and kill them both sooner or later, by the looks of things.

There was no use worrying so Imril filled Shataska in on recent events. The Wookiee female was impressed with the tale of the holocron and blade but hadn't heard of Zalbaar. However, she mentioned that Imril might try talking to some loremasters on Kashyyk. The pirate then asked her how she came to be here. Shataska told him what Flikkin had already made known: Zyklanssk's thugs barged in and stunned her. She woke up here. Most of the Wookiees were offworlders, former Imperial slaves, broken in spirit. The sight of their fellow beings slain and flayed before their eyes had only broken them further. Only a few still retained their strength and will enough to resist, but the whips kept them in line. Even if they had tried to plan something, there were security cams hidden all around so any surprise would be known.

Imril listened attentively, working something out in his mind. "How do they lower the force field to allow the Wookiees in?"

Pointing inconspicuously at small control pad at one corner of the cage's interior, Shataska explained that Zyklanssk manipulated it to create a hole in the field so the victims could enter. Apparently, it was code activated.

A plan took shape in Imril's mind. From what he already knew from Zyklanssk's behavior, the pirate categorized him as one who played psychological games on his victims, forcing them to watch as he killed and skinned others. _Well, Zyk, two can play at mind games._ "Shataska, I've got a plan."

She cocked her head and woofed a question.

Shaking his head with a grim look, Imril replied, "It's a one in a million plan that can only begin if two things are in our favor: one, that Zyklanssk is as arrogant as we were told, and two, that Zalbaar taught me well."

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About fifteen minutes later, Celia was still asleep when some heavily armed guards came up the lift, along with a tall, black Trandoshan outfitted in bronze colored body armor. Judging by Flikkin's description and the hate-filled growl from Shataska, it was Zyklanssk.

Gently setting down Celia and pillowing her head with his jacket, he stood up and strode up to the force cage. "Zyklanssk?" he called.

Surprised, the Trandoshan looked down at the human, his red eyes flashing. "Who are you?" he rasped, then grinned suddenly. "Wait, I know. My men told me about you – the one who slew my egg brother. Were you a Wookiee, you would be my opponent this evening."

Imril crossed his arm and grinned up at him, unafraid. "Oh, I see. You prefer easy ones. A few old carpets to fight and you still have to break their legs. How brave of you."

Immediately, Zyklanssk turned violent, giving an outraged growl and advancing closer to the force field. "You have a big mouth, puny human. If I cut out your tongue, you wouldn't talk so much…"

Calling upon his thespian training, Imril turned up the bravado. "It's possible. Care to try? In a duel?" he challenged.

"What terms?" growled Zyklanssk. "If I felt like squashing a bug like you, which is unlikely, what would you want if you won, which is unlikelier still?"

"Free all the Wookies, Celia, and myself."

"Well, well, an outrageous demand following an outrageous suggestion. Such a systematic human worm…" snarled the Trandoshan. For a moment, he glared closely at Imril. At last, he nodded slowly. "I suppose you wouldn't be more of a challenge than a whelp and that female shouldn't either. Who knows? Maybe I'll turn her in for the bounty after I collect her scarlet pelt. The Imperials want her rather badly."

"Funny, I didn't know the Empire dealt with cowardly, hair collecting salamanders." Imril stepped back smartly as Zyklanssk struck the side of the force cage with a clash of sparks.

The Trandoshan chuckled through his teeth. "I think I will enjoy killing you after all." He turned on one clawed heel and strode over to the control panel, manipulating the field to create an Imril-sized gap. One of his henchmen reached out and dragged the pirate roughly into the cage, throwing him to the floor. Some areas were still wet, staining Imril's clothes. Zyklanssk produced Bacca's blade and tossed it in front of the pirate. "We will fight in two hours, human, the perfect amount of time for you to inhale the sweet smell of Wookiee blood, alone, without your mate to comfort you."

_He's doing the mental games again. Amateur. Let's see how far we can go…_ As the Trandoshan walked over to the lift, Imril sat up, stretching out his legs. "Zyklanssk!" The Trandoshan turned as Imril motioned to his legs?"

"I only do that to ones I think are threats, human."

"Just one then?" pleaded Imril, barely able to project disappointment into his voice over the relief he felt. "A simple dislocation even?"

Zyklanssk ignored him and went down the lift, leaving Imril alone in the cage. Careful not to betray any emotions for the security cams, the pirate stretched out on his back, the blood soaking into his clothes. So far, his luck held out. Even so, he seriously doubted that he'd be able to defeat Zyklanssk in single combat. _Still, that's no reason not to try, D'Var, _he berated himself._ Pretty silly reason to fight, though, for hair. If I had any sense, I'd have convinced Celia to cut it a long time ago. It would probably throw off bounty hunters. _Yet, it was not a serious thought. Imril loved Celia's scarlet mane that was so soft to the touch and made her emerald eyes become glittering stars.

Twisting his head around, he looked over at his Wookiee friend who was watching him anxiously. "Shataska, could you do me a favor and go take care of Celia?" She nodded and went. He laid back again and felt something heavy in his jacket pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out the datapad Selana had given him.

_Selana finally broke away from his brotherly embrace, all her tears spent. "I really am sorry, Imril."_

_"As am I," he said again. "Did you finish school on Coruscant?" The pirate attempted to change the subject to better things._

_His sister smiled wanly, nodding her head. "Yes, I graduated, but came home to be with Mom and Dad. I've kept painting and even have some of my work in the Imperial Palace."_

_"Congratulations!" Imril grinned. "I never doubted for a second that you would be a famous painter someday."_

_"I wish I'd have put a coating of liquid explosives on it. That would teach Palpatine to keep control of his stormtroopers," she said bitterly. Selana sighed. "I miss Katira."_

_"So do I," agreed Imril softly. "After you left, she missed you so much, she used to creep into my room in the middle of the night and sleep on the floor. We began to fight less and less and do more things together."_

_"Yes," put in Selana, raising an eyebrow. "In her letters, she would talk about you and she would put peppers in the sandwiches of rude employees."_

_"Totally her idea, I assure you. I was the sweetest, most innocent boy until you left and then she began corrupting me," protested Imril, looking injured at Selana's disbelieving snort._

_"That reminds me." Selana snapped her fingers, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a datapad. She gave it to Imril. "I found this under your pillow. It's from Katira."_

Imril remembered Katira leaving things under his pillow. Sometimes, it was a practical joke; others, it was a gift. He saved the datapad to read later, but with activating the holocron and being kidnapped, he hadn't found time to read it.

Until now. The file wasn't that large and probably wouldn't take the whole two hours to read. _Oh, well, at least I'll know what Katira said before I die._ He began to read.

_Dear Imril,_

_It's been a few years since you left and yet, it feels like only yesterday you were boarding the ship to the Imperial Academy. I remember, before you went, you waved at me and I looked away, still mad over our argument_

_I regretted it then and I still do now. I'm sorry, Imril. Sorry for arguing over your hopes and dreams, sorry for not waving goodbye, sorry for not writing you any letters. I finally got over my stubbornness and decided to write to you, only to find out that you were stationed somewhere top secret, all communications impossible._

_Still, I had to do something, so I'm writing this letter. I know you'll come back someday, so I'm leaving it under your pillow like I used to do._

_Big brother, you can act better than Altern, fly better than anyone I know, and make me laugh. Since Selana left, I've come to realize just how important you are to me and I want only the best for you. However, I thought I knew what was best for you and didn't think you did._

_Dad always tells us kids to follow our dreams and I've always agreed with that. I realize now that you're following your dream and that I had no call to abuse your choice of going to the Academy. Regardless of what I think, I will always love you, older brother. Know that._

_I hope you get leave soon. I miss you and Katira a lot._

_Your sister,_

_Katira._

Setting the datapad down, Imril wiped a tear from his eye. Though his survival was questionable against Zyklanssk, he felt an odd sense of calm now. He stood up, tucking the pad back into his pocket and, picking up Bacca's blade, began to practice the forms he learned from the holocron. Sweat flew from his brow as Imril whirled the sword, carving deadly patterns into the air. His blood rose as the blade hummed, a blur of glittering gray in front of him. "All right, Zyklanssk," he muttered, still moving the blade. "I hope you're watching and regretting that you didn't break my legs." Bringing the sword point down on the floor, he rested both hands on the hilt, breathing hard.

A chorus of roars made him jump. Shataska and some other Wookiees were close to the forcefield, watching his performance with excitement. The female yowled something and Imril grinned in spite of himself. Spurred on by their cheers, he began again, swinging the sword one-handed along his arm, then over and down in a swift slash as Zalbaar taught him.

His show paid off, apparently. The lift opened up again before even one hour was up, disgorging Zyklanssk and his minions once more. The Trandoshan carried a vibroblade and what looked like a Gamorrean cleaver, a jagged-edged axe with a wicked spike on the other side of the blade. "After such a good show, human, I believe I will have your legs broken after all."

Obliging, the pirate sat down and stretched them out again. As he did so, he caught sight of Celia outside the cage, leaning on Shataska and looking at him in worry. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, Imril tossed his vibrosword away and beckoned a bar-wielding thug forward. As the brute raised the bar, a lesson Zalbaar's holocron taught Imril flashed through his mind. _Don't neglect the use of any object as a weapon._ Zalbaar recounted using a metal sheet off an escape pod to squash a Gamorrean

It was good advice, but inconvenient when one wanted to preserve memories. Imril realized this as he suddenly brought his food up in a fierce kick to the man's groin. Almost immediately afterwards, his hand came up and shattered Katira's datapad against the man's face. Zalbaar's lessons rolled through his head.

_Be strong._

Imril's fingers closed on Bacca's blade and he swept it in an unstoppable stroke.

_Be fast._

The thug's head flew off in a shower of blood as Imril spun with the swing and released the sword as he would with a throwing knife.

_Be unpredictable._

With a sickening crunch that brought cheers from the Wookiees around the cage, Bacca's blade sank into the second henchman's chest. Celia gaped at the speed at which Imril dispatched the two thugs.

_Fight dirty against high odds. Crazy moves can work._

Imril took a running leap toward Zyklanssk, who snarled and swung the axe and blade. Adrenaline screamed through the pirate's mind, inhibiting the pain of the vibroblade sinking into his left palm. He managed to catch hold of the axe shaft and plant both feet into the Trandoshan's chest in a flying kick. With a hoarse shriek, the lizard stumbled backward into the field, lighting it up in a shower of a thousand blue sparks.

Scrambling back over to retrieve his sword, Imril stood up and took a fighting stance.

Breathing hard, Zyklanssk regained his feet. "I underestimated you, human. You fight like a Trandoshan," he commented, his red eyes glittering furiously.

"Wrong, lizard. I haven't broken your legs and I don't kill pregnant females or cubs like a cowardly insect," retorted Imril loudly over the roarings of the Wookiees

Stung, the Trandoshan growled wordlessly and charged. Imril ran to meet him, bringing his vibrosword up to his shoulder. Just as the pirate swung, he slipped in the fresh blood and fell to his knees, feeling the breeze as the cleaver barely missed his head. His relief was short-lived as the vibroblade sank into his left shoulder. Biting down a scream of pain, Imril used one of Zalbaar's favorite moves. For some reason, the Wookiee called it the "Shyrack Over." An odd name, but it sliced off Zyklanssk's arm nicely.

Imril regained his feet and back off a little ways, switching his sword to his uninjured hand. The Trandoshan and pirate circled, the human looking small compared to the large reptile. Imril halted next to the clawed arm on the floor, the amputated limb still grasping the axe. Dramatically, he stomped one booted foot down upon it, gratified to hear the bones break. "One wound apiece, lizard."

Zyklanssk chuckled. "It will regenerate in time, human, but not before I take your life." He leaped forward, but Imril just managed to block his strike. The two blades locked. One handed, the Trandoshan was stronger than Imril, slowly forcing the human back.

Throughout the entire fight, Celia forced herself to remain silent lest she distract Imril. As she now opened her mouth to shout abuse at Zyklanssk, Imril caught her eye and winked, a roguish smile appearing on his face. Just as the Trandoshan applied his full strength and weight on Bacca's blade, Imril dodged to one side, releasing the sword. The surprised Trandoshan fell flat on his face. Imril whirled, snatched up the fallen axe, and bringing it down with a sickening crunch.

The now-armless Zyklanssk lay helplessly on the floor while the Wookiees howled and clamored in exultation. Wincing and holding his badly wounded arm, Imril stood over his fallen opponent. Zyklanssk rasped out something inaudible over the noise and the pirate leaned closer.

"Do you think you've won, human? Only my men and I know the lift code. You'll never escape, even if you do kill me," the Trandoshan hissed.

Smiling grimly, Imril reached down and grasped him by the neck, lifting his head up. "Wanna bet?" he growled. With a quick jerk, he slammed the Trandoshan's head on the control panel. The controls buzzed warningly and Imril raised Zyklanssk's head once more. "_I_ won't kill you, lizard." Another blow smashed the controls. There was a sputtering that disrupted the continuous humming of the forcefields as the collapsed. As they did, a deathly hush fell over the Wookiees. Imril stood up, rolling his opponent over with his boot. Zyklanssk's eyes widened in fear as he realized what the pirate intended to do.

Imril turned his back on him and retrieved the blades. He gave one to Shataska, Bacca's blade to another Wookiee, and the last to an elder Wookiee. One by one, they all stood and started toward the Trandoshan, the memories of murder and a future of revenge bursting into flames in every eye.

Sitting down next to Celia, Imril sighed. She merely looked at him. He smiled tiredly, taking her hand. "Miss me?" he asked.

A grin crossed her face, making the green orbs of her eyes sparkle brilliantly. No matter that her clothes were filthy, no matter the cut on her head, she was the most beautiful woman Imril ever saw and he wondered if she felt the same about the battered man she was smiling at.

Celia wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. Imril held her, trying not to bleed all over her, and wondered why he wondered.

A/N: Next week - the conclusion. Meanwhile, see that button that says "Submit Review?" Be a chum.


	6. Epilogue

A/N: Final installment, so tell me if you liked it.

In the cargo hold of the freighter _Dustman_, the Wookiee Shataska put a strip of engineering tape over a protesting HK-47's ocular receptors and gave a satisfied grunt. There was one problem solved. All that remained was to muffle Hakky's protests and the Wookiee would have a peaceful rest of the trip.

Up in the cockpit, Imril sat in his usual manner, glass in hand and foot on console, chatting with Celia. Both were healed, thanks to a day or two in the Kashyyk resistance's bacta tanks. After Imril had safely returned many former slaves and the important artifacts, the rebel chieftains were only too happy to offer medical services.

"So, any regrets?"

Imril shot Celia a puzzled glance as she took a sip of Corellian whiskey. "About returning Bacca's blade? No." He sighed, looking out at hyperspace stretching before them. "As fun as it was to steal it from Dad and use it for the 'dashing pirate' look, it was awkward to tote around. Besides," he tapped the long daggers at his belt. "These Wookiee fighting knives look fun."

"And Zalbaar's holocron revealing a hidden cache of 4,000 year-old weapons didn't hurt, right?"

"Not at all," smirked the pirate. "Some of the weapons can be sold to museums for a pretty penny. The Wookiee leaders insisted we take a full skid of thermal detonators, as payment, and they even threw in a couple of Jedi lightsabers and crystals."

Celia whistled in amazement. "Too bad the Jedi are extinct. We could hawk them to the spoonbenders for a shipload of credits."

"Well, when we get to Hoth, we'll see if the Rebels are there and if they want to buy some thermal detonators." He took a gulp from his glass and rolled the fiery liquid on his tongue thoughtfully. "Also, if the rumors are true and whats-his-name Skyblocker who blew up the Death Star is a Jedi, he might be interested in the crystals. After we drop Shataska off to join the Rebellion, the galaxy's the limit, my dear Lady Durasha." Imril put an arm around her and gestured dramatically with the glass.

Celia didn't speak for a moment, staring ahead in silence. "Imril," she blurted finally. "I think I'll go with Shataska."

Choking on his whiskey, Imril coughed. "You what?" he exclaimed, hardly believing his ears. "You're going to join the Rebellion?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"After seeing how the Empire gave those Wookiee slaves to Zyklanssk to do as he pleased with them, I decided that I can't just drift with you and Hakky any longer. I feel like…" She struggled to find the words. "Like doing more. I already have a bounty on my head, which should make me welcome and you've taught me how to be a complete scoundrel, so that should help." Celia reached up and squeezed his hand affectionately.

"Not a complete scoundrel," retorted Imril, finishing his whiskey. "A complete scoundrel wouldn't join the Rebellion. You're right, though. The Rebellion could use one of your skills. Add that to the free cases of thermal detonators we give them and they beg us to join."

"Us?" Celia smirked, her eyebrow arching in the manner Imril found so endearing. "Whatever happened to 'complete scoundrels not joining the Rebellion?'"

A small clink sounded as the pirate set down his glass and turned to her, his icy sapphire eyes serious. "I let you walk away before. Fortunately for this fool of a pirate, you came back. I might, with a stretch of the imagination, be as Shataska and the Wookiee elders named me 'Wookiee Heart' but you'll always be what I named you, dear Lady Celia," he whispered, resting his forehead gently against her own.

Her soft fingers ran over the scars on his face as her eyes gazed into his. "What's that?" she whispered back.

"'Thief of Wookiee Heart's Heart." Imril's mouth closed over her own. She felt a delicious tremble through her body as she melted into his kiss.

Below, in the cargo hold, Shataska was happily snoring away while the now-deactivated HK-47 stood slumped in the corner.


End file.
